


In the Palm of Her Hands (+ art)

by chamyl, Khiroptera



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Aziraphale Has a Vulva (Good Omens), Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Sex, Established Relationship, F/F, Ineffable Wives | Female Aziraphale/Female Crowley (Good Omens), Japanese Rope Bondage, Love, NSFW Art, Romance, Rope Bondage, She/Her Pronouns for Aziraphale (Good Omens), She/Her Pronouns for Crowley (Good Omens), Shibari, Tenderness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-06
Updated: 2020-07-06
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:42:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25113319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chamyl/pseuds/chamyl, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khiroptera/pseuds/Khiroptera
Summary: Aziraphale’s wrists were captured first. No, not captured – willingly given. Bound to the angel’s back. Then, Crowley tied the rope around her chest and waist and Aziraphale’s body followed the demon’s will, pliant, bending and tensing under her lover’s command.Crowley is so good. So good to her. Aziraphale can feel the warmth of her sunlight gaze on her face even as she keeps her eyes closed.
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 61
Kudos: 308
Collections: Ixnael’s Recommendations, Our Own Side, The Bond Zine, Top Crowley Library





	In the Palm of Her Hands (+ art)

**Author's Note:**

> I am now allowed to share my fic for the [Bond Zine](https://thebondzine.tumblr.com/), WAHOO!  
> This is a collab with [Khiroptera](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khiroptera), who did the beautiful, beautiful art that goes with this, and looking back at it a few months later, I'm still very happy and proud of the result.
> 
> Hope you guys like it as much as I do 🤍🤍🤍
> 
> 💥 BEWARE, NSFW ILLUSTRATION AHEAD 💥

Ironic, isn’t it?

She’s been so _scared_. Her whole existence, she’s been so scared. She’s considered every careful step she’s ever taken, weighed every single word before it left her mouth. Ripped out any disobedient thought before it could sprout, before it could have the chance to bloom and put her in trouble.

Until her last plea finally fell on deaf ears, and all she had left was the bitter realisation that she’d placed her trust in a distant God who simply didn’t seem to care enough to even take her call.

After that, she couldn’t take it anymore, and decided that if she Fell – so be it. She had an Apocalypse to stop.

Crowley’s hands are delicate but strong. Long, elegant fingers, sharp black nails, soft palms that firmly cup Aziraphale’s cheeks. Those hands were fast at first, then slow, and always sure, confident, handling the blood red rope without a moment’s hesitation.

Aziraphale’s wrists were captured first. No, not _captured_ – willingly given. Bound to the angel’s back. Then, Crowley tied the rope around her chest and waist and Aziraphale’s body followed the demon’s will, pliant, bending and tensing under her lover’s command.

Crowley is so good. So good to her. Aziraphale can feel the warmth of her sunlight gaze on her face even as she keeps her eyes closed.

With every knot, the angel slips further down, releases another ounce of control until all the tension has seeped out of her body and into the ropes, until she’s gone boneless into the restraints taut around her breasts, her waist, her thighs. It should be uncomfortable – but it isn’t. It isn’t, because Crowley has very carefully prepared for this. The hands that pull and twist the ropes so surely also remember to caress Aziraphale’s naked skin, to support her back as they move her around, to pause and hold her in place from time to time – making her feel safe, treasured, loved.

Aziraphale is on her knees as Crowley tightens the rope around her feet. Her other hand is on the slow pulse at the angel’s throat. Crowley tilts her head back and Aziraphale, eyes closed and lips parted, lets it happen, lets the tide pull her over and under, lets her head lull back in total abandon. Crowley gathers her white-blonde curls into a loose ponytail, connects it to the other restraints – so that the angel has to keep her head tilted back, the pale column of her neck exposed. Aziraphale shivers, breathes in – smiles.

Crowley – her beloved, her companion, the only being she’d trust with her life.

Crowley – who gently guides her to lie on her stomach, who has prepared a nest of blankets for Aziraphale to rest her face over.

Crowley – who slowly begins pulling on the ropes and lifting her off the floor.

Aziraphale’s knees go up first, and the rest of her body follows, until the angel is hanging upside down, the heels of her feet against the back of her thighs, her back arched as the rope around her torso connects her shoulders to her feet.

Up and up, and then she’s suspended at last – flying, swaying slightly as gravity tries to reclaim her.

Her whole existence, she’s been so scared of Falling.

Not anymore.

She chokes around a sob and squirms against her restraints, but the ropes hold her firmly in place. She couldn’t fall from here, not even if she tried.

“Angel,” calls Crowley’s velvet voice, and Aziraphale opens her eyes.

Crowley is lying underneath her, gorgeous as anything. If the ropes were to give out, Crowley’s body would break her fall.

“There you are,” her love murmurs, caressing her cheek, and Aziraphale feels a tear slipping down her face.

She doesn’t speak – can’t speak, but that’s okay. That’s the whole point of this – she doesn’t have to do anything at all. Doesn’t have to think, talk, take responsibility for any decision. It’s all in Crowley’s hands. She’s completely in Crowley’s hands, and there’s no better place to be.

With a thought, Crowley commands the ropes to move – the first time she calls on her demonic nature today. This far, they’ve done this as humans. Now, there’s something preternatural about Crowley, as her eyes become molten gold and occult power gathers in the palm of her hands. Aziraphale can’t help thinking she’s beautiful like this – beautiful like the open night sky is beautiful – dark and looming and infinite. Like a storm at sea, and yet Aziraphale feels nothing but peace, at last.

The ropes shift and Crowley brings her closer to her, hovering parallel to the floor – parallel to her body. And isn’t that appropriate? They’ve always been each other’s mirror, walking by each other’s side, always unable to touch – until they finally could.

Crowley caresses her cheek with a thumb, smiles at her. Aziraphale smiles back. Oh, how she loves her.

The demon’s hands run down her body and Aziraphale closes her eyes again, lets her world fall away around her, forgets about anything that isn’t Crowley’s touch, Crowley’s brimstone aura crackling in the air, Crowley’s hitching breath. The demon’s skilled fingers play a silent melody over rope and skin, until she reaches the one place she’s left completely bare – the soft curve of Aziraphale’s hips. The angel breathes out, opens her knees the tiny bit more the restraints will allow.

Crowley makes an amused, fond sound, which becomes a surprised noise when she slides her hand between the angel’s thighs, curls her fingers into the heat of her, and finds her warm and soft and open – and almost there already, without having been touched at all.

For Aziraphale, time seems to expand as Crowley’s fingers set her alight from within - but it’s actually only a matter of breaths before she’s shaking apart against the demon’s hand. The ropes let her go, gently deliver her into her lover’s arms with her skin still buzzing from the aftershocks of pleasure.

Crowley holds her close, plucks a loose red rope from behind her neck and tosses it aside. Then, she tugs a strand of blonde-white hair behind Aziraphale’s ear, her hand lingering on her angel’s face to tilt her chin up and look into her sea-green eyes.

“All right?” She asks, her confidence wavering for the first time.

But Aziraphale beams at her, kisses her on the lips, on the cheek, on the tip of the nose. “More than,” she sighs happily, and Crowley makes a pleased noise as Aziraphale settles in her arms. Unlike the first time they met, now it’s the demon that pulls a blanket over the angel’s shoulders.

The lovers fall asleep with their legs intertwined, in a patch of sunlight filtering through the big windows of their home, Aziraphale’s lips pressed against the gentle bones of Crowley’s fingers.


End file.
